


Inglourious Anny-vers-ree

by Amuly



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brief mentions of amputations and PTSD, Domestic, M/M, Missionary Position, mentions of gay bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Donny and Utivich's anniversary, and Donny's got a whole special thing planned out for Utivich. Real romantic-like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inglourious Anny-vers-ree

_Chop, slice. Chop, slice. Chop, slice._

Donny hacked at the hunk of beef on the counter before him, slicing off the fat and trimming it down to size. When he was finished, he stuck the butcher's knife into the counter and slapped the piece of beef on the scale. Chewing at a toothpick – no cigarettes when you're handling the meat, boss's orders – Donny wiped his hands on his apron as he scanned the needle on the scale. 

“Two pounds of beef; that's one ten.” 

The costumer, Mickey Goldman's kid, fiddled with the coins in his hands for a minute, counting out the price. Donny leaned forward on the counter, meaty fingers drumming as he waited. It was the last costumer of the day, and all Donny wanted to do was clean up and head home. Today was important, after all.

Just as Donny was getting ready to snatch the coins out of the kid's hand and boot him out the door, Goldman Jr. _finally_ held his hand out to Donny, dropping the change into his outstretched palm. Counting it up quickly, Donny dropped it into the register. Finally Goldman's kid was gone, bell chiming behind him as the door swung shut. The tinny sound of brass hitting against brass was still diffusing through the small shop when Donny ducked into the back and grabbed the bleach and brush to scrub down the counters. After just a second's thought, Donny grabbed the rarely-used gloves, too. Uti was always complaining about his chapped hands, and though most of the time Donny managed to find one way or another to shut up Uti's smart mouth, today was special. Uti deserved to be treated right today.

The evening was fucking _cold_ as Donny stopped outside and locked up the shop. The wind bit into his skin, the constant dampness from the harbor worming into his bones and setting up house. Donny lit a cigarette, letting the little burning ember and warm smoke do what it could. Fucking Boston winters. But at least even suffering through a Boston winter meant that he was suffering in _Boston_ , instead of Manhattan, like Uti would prefer it. Wasn't like they weren't up the often enough anyway, going to visit Uti's mom for every holiday and more: birthdays, weekends, whatever excuse Ms. Utivich could find. 'Course, they weren't going to be visiting for this particular holiday. This one was just for them.

A lone newsstand was still just barely open, old man who ran it keeping his vulture's-eye on some kids flipping through comics, trying to figure out what to spend their week's coin on. With one eye on the kids – never knew when one of those little bastards would try to run off with a comic without paying the ten cents – Donny eyed the little bunches of flowers, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Frowning, Donny hefted the steaks he'd brought home with him from one hand to the other, rough fingers feeling the cold moisture of the meat even through its wrapping. 

It was times like this that Donny wished Uti was a broad. Not really, because no thanks, he'd take Uti's hard penis in his hand and wiry muscles curled up against him every night, no question, but because at least he knew what to _do_ with broads. Or at least, what you were supposed to do. Buy them flowers, maybe some chocolates. Take them out somewhere nice and clean up before you did, go dancing every once in a while. But what was she supposed to do with a guy? Did Uti like flowers? Would he be pissed, because Donny treated him too much like a dame more often than not? Uti never liked that, when Donny called him a fräulein, or expected him to do all the laundry and cleaning and woman's work like that. But flowers weren't work. Flowers were nice. Maybe.

"Fuck it," Donny mumbled to himself. With a grunt he dug some change out of his pocket and counted it out for the shopkeep. The old man took it and nodded at the flowers, letting Donny pick out the bunch for himself. Donny just tried to grab the one with the most colors and petals, or something. The two men exchanged a nod and Donny continued on his way. He wondered what the old-timer would think if he knew Donny was going home to give the flowers to another man.

The apartment was empty when Donny slammed the door shut behind him. He shouted out for Uti a few times, just to check. Silence. Good. Donny had closed up shop early because he wanted to have this all ready for Uti. Tossing the steaks on the counter, Donny stripped and headed for the cramped shower they had. Not much hot water, really just a spattering of not freezing water. Donny grumbled through the shower and scrubbed the sweat and raw meat stench from the day off as quickly as he could. Even ran the soap through his hair and rinsed it out, since Uti was always happy when he did that.

Patting himself down with a scratchy, threadbare towel, Donny shoved his coat on and nothing else as he started for the stove. The steaks had been marinating at the shop for a day, and now were ready for cooking. Donny flicked on the stove and shoved the steaks into a pan on top, then left them to start sizzling. In the meantime, he grabbed some potatoes and a knife and set to work peeling them, pot of water set up to boil on the stove next to the steaks. Once those were in he flipped the steaks and went to work peeling and chopping onions, then cleaned and tossed some mushrooms in with them in a pan with olive oil. Donny stepped back, wiping an onion-stinking hand across his forehead as he surveyed the stove. Everything moving along. And he still had another... Donny checked the battered clock in their kitchen. Shit. Ten minutes before Uti got home. He thought he had more time. 

Rushing into their bedroom Donny shed his coat and dragged on some nice clothes: temple-dinner clothes, the stuff Uti always made him pack when they packed up their battered used car and headed down to New York. If it was good enough for momma Utivich, it'd be good enough for the man himself. More than, really. 

Just as he was coming out of the bedroom, still tugging the suspenders up over his shoulders between his thumb and index finger, he heard the front door go. Swearing to himself, Donny rushed into the kitchen. There was Utivich, staring at the stove like it had a dybbuk in it or something. After a quick glance to make sure nothing was burning – 'course it wasn't, Donny knew how to cook – Donny hurried up to Utivich and pulled him into his arms.

“Hey,” he grumbled. He let his lips brush against the skin under Utivich's ear. Then he groped his ass with rough hands, just so Uti wouldn't get any ideas, like he was Uti's froy or something. “How's the smart-ass factory?”

They pulled apart enough so Donny could see an exasperated expression passing across Uti's face. “You mean the university?”

Donny snorted and walked away, back over to the stove. “What I said, wasn't it?”

The onions and mushrooms were just on the right side of brown, so Donny pulled them off the heat after shaking them one last time. He felt Uti walk up behind him, watching the proceedings. 

“Good day,” he confirmed. “Still waiting to hear back about the paper I submitted, but word is no one is going to hear until next month, so that's nothing to worry about.”

Donny grunted, hearing Uti but focusing more of his attention on the steaks. Almost done. Potatoes could be pulled off anytime.

“Hey,” Donny turned to look at Uti. He was smiling curiously at Donny. “What's all this about?”

Shrugging manishly, Donny turned back to the stove. “Just somethin'. Why don't you just... Get cleaned up.” Donny face felt flush, but he figured it was the heat from the stove. Behind him he could feel Uti staying still, Uti standing and staring at him. Resolutely Donny poked at the potatoes with a fork.

After a long moment Uti moved, fancy college fabrics rustling and shoes clicking over their wood floors. When the bathroom door shut Donny breathed a sigh of relief, then turned back around, scanning the kitchen. Plates. Table settings. That's what he still had to do.

By the time Uti stepped out of their bathroom, all nice and scrubbed up, dust and mothballs washed away down the same drain Donny had sent all the blood and meat from his day, Donny was staring at the table, thinking hard if he needed to do anything else. The placemats and napkins were laid out all nice, the silverware in the right place. Probably. Food was on the plates, looking all nice and neat. And Donny had put the flowers on the side of the table, arranged them in a mason jar and tried to fluff them up as best he could. Damned if he knew anything about flowers.

“You going to tell me what this is, then?”

Donny shrugged big shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. He found he didn't feel like looking Utivich in the eye at the moment, so he stared at the flowers on the table. “Anniversary. For comin' home. Together, you know, after the French docs got me all patched up, and...” 

Donny blew air from his mouth thickly. Two years since Utivich agreed to stay with him, once they went back. That was the important thing. The French docs had approved Donny for travel – mostly because Donny wouldn't shut up about getting back on his feet and how healthy he was and come on, he was the fucking Bear-Jew, fucking building falling on him wasn't about to keep him down this long, he just wanted to get back to Boston. Two years ago the docs said alright, fine, _vous quittez, vous quittez_ , and Donny had grinned at Uti and said “We're going home to Boston!” And stared, and stared, because he realized what he'd said.

What they did during the war... That was the war. Lots of guys did it. But then they came home and married some dame and that was alright, that was the end of it. Two guys helping each other out in the trenches was one thing. Two guys setting up shop, _living_ together, middle of a city like Boston... That wasn't done. That was downright dangerous. Guys'd been strung up for less, dragged behind cars 'til their limbs fell off, beaten to death. Everyone brought pieces of the war with them – look in their eyes, itchy limbs that weren't there, spatterings of French and German, and all that noise at night, in their heads, stuck inside and impossible to get out. But no one brought _that_ part of the war back with them: not in stories, and definitely not in the flesh.

Donny had looked away good and quick, when he'd realized what he said. Started fucking around with bandages and talking real loud about old Mr. Cohen's butcher's shop, kosher, where he'd been promised a job just as soon as he came home a war hero. He'd kept talking until Uti laid a hand on his thigh, real gentle like, and said simply: “It's bullshit, but Harvard's better than NYU. For my field, anyway. You mind putting me up for a bit? 'Til I can blend in with you loser Southies?”

And just like that, they were living together. And Donny wasn't sure what to do with that, with bringing Uti home from the war with him, with setting up in an apartment together and figuring out how to hide it and not and make it work and fucking hell, _parents_ , his mom was going to be riding his ass like a witch on a broomstick 'til he found a good froy, he had no idea what he was going to do with her.

But Uti was there, and he was smiling, and looking a little nervous too. And his hand was warm on Donny's thigh, even through all the fucking stupid bandages, and. Okay. Okay.

A little “Oh,” escaped Uti's lips, there in their cramped kitchen. Suddenly irritable for no real reason, Donny threw himself down in his chair and stared down at his food. After a moment he kicked one leg out and pushed Uti's chair out from the table.

Without saying a word Uti sat down and pulled his chair in, eyes taking in everything on the table. After a moment of silence, Donny started digging into his food, not sure what else he was supposed to say. Another moment, and Uti's silverware was clinking against his plate, chopping up the steak into those tiny pieces he liked to eat.

Donny's skin itched. He wanted to get out of here. But he was doing right by Uti, and this was right, all this stuff. The food and flowers and... fuck, this was stupid. Uti wasn't a fucking dame, Donny didn't know why he'd done all this. Should have just come home, washed up, fixed himself a sandwich. Then Uti would have come home, eaten something outta the fridge, whatever. Then Donny'd be fucking Uti's brains out, pounding him into the mattress, testing their poor old bed frame and seeing if it'd last through another vicious fucking. Then everything'd be normal and good.

“Hey, Donny. Numbskull.”

With a growl Donny looked up to see Utivich grinning at him. He'd eaten a bit, that was good. Potatoes and steak and mushrooms were all significantly depleted. Damn kid never ate enough, Donny was always having to check. 

“You know this is good. All this.”

Donny shrugged and stared back down at his food. “Yeah,” he mumbled. 

“Really. It's... It's good, Donny. I like it. You're a mensch, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” But now the tops of Donny's ears felt hot, and his irritation was bubbling away into something else, which was just making him irritated more, but he couldn't hold onto it. Rather than try and deal with all that commotion happening somewhere under his breastbone, Donny hunched his shoulders higher and piled more potatoes into his mouth. But maybe he was smiling more around the potatoes when he chewed.

After they were done Donny tossed the dishes in the sink and grabbed Uti's wrist, heading determinedly into their bedroom. He wanted to fuck Uti so bad right now, but he had swore to himself he'd let Uti decide what they were doing tonight. If they didn't fuck tonight, he could always get Uti before they both left for work in the morning.

“Sit,” Donny ordered, tossing Uti to the bed. Uti sat, staring up at Donny with a wry grin on his face. Donny frowned back at him, wanting to smack that look off his face. Or kiss it off. Or fuck it, or something, Donny scrubbed his face and growled at himself, not used to feeling all this.

“Right, deal is: you getta pick. So. Whatevah.”

Uti's eyebrows rose almost into his too-neat hair, eyes wide as he considered Donny's offer. Fuck. Donny hadn't thought... Okay, so he hadn't thought this all the way through. He hadn't meant Uti would get to do anything to _him_ , that wasn't how he meant to say it. But shit, now Uti was looking like he was thinking stuff like that.

“I get to pick whatever we do?”

“Well, not-” Donny's gut clenched. No. No way. “I'm not gonna-”

“Geeze, Donny. I'm not gonna make you take it up the ass, relax,” Uti snapped.

Although Donny kept his expression stoic, inwardly he frowned, upset. He had wanted the day to be all special for Uti, after all. But not up-the-ass special. Like, putting his mouth on Uti special. He could do that.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Uti looked at Donny for a moment. Finally he just nodded down at himself, at the bed. “Come here. I'm not gonna shove my Johnson up your ass, come here.”

Donny snorted, but went to unhook his suspenders from his shoulders as he moved to the bed. He let Uti drag him down on top of him, sticking his tongue in Uti's mouth as they went. This felt good. This worked. This was at least something Donny knew he was good at: making Uti feel good. He could make Uti feel so good, here; make him groan and whimper and whine like a bitch in heat. Even though fucking Uti felt good for Donny, of course it did, it was almost as good knowing Uti was feeling good, too. Or something. Donny figured that meant it was special, him and Uti: if getting off himself was the same amount of important as making sure Uti was getting off, too.

“Here, here,” Uti whispered against his lips. He was tugging at Donny's buttons, opening has pants and reaching inside. Donny groaned and pushed into Uti's hand.

“Fucking great,” Donny mumbled, face buried in Uti's neck. “You're fucking great, fucking smart ass.”

“Come on.” Clothes were coming off, stumbling and awkward but eventually _off_ , finally, fuck. Donny immediately groped Uti, grabbing at his cock, his balls, his thighs. His calloused, meaty hands scrubbed over every inch of Utivich's skin he could find, touching and assessing and remembering.

“I want it this way.” Uti's voice was breathless, a few inches above Donny's ear. He pulled his head away from Uti's neck and looked down at him, frowning.

“This way?” He wasn't sure how Uti meant. Just rubbing against each other? Because that was okay, it wasn't great, but it was fine. He'd get off.

But huh, no. Uti was grabbing the slick they kept in the drawer next to the bed and shoving it into Donny's hands. And his legs... Oh, huh. Hitching them up, shit. Donny stared down at Uti, eyes going a little crossed. Uti was _flexible_. Really flexible. Huh.

“Just like this,” Uti said. “I wanna see you when you're fucking me. For once.”

Donny frowned, about to open his mouth to protest. Not the position, but that he wouldn't like it, which is what Uti seemed like he was saying. Donny didn't mind this: this seemed great. He could shove his tongue down Uti's throat while he shoved his cock up his ass, and that sounded swell, that sounded perfect. But then he noticed Utivich getting nervous: all snark and angry, flinty eyes, and Donny realized Uti might think he was protesting the position. So he grabbed the slick out of Uti's hand and grinned down at him.

“Should have told me earlier you could do that with your legs,” Donny growled.

Uti's eyes lost some of that smart ass glint when he looked up at Donny. “Didn't think you'd want it this way.”

Donny shrugged his left shoulder, right hand already working Uti open with quick, jerky motions. “Didn't know we could.” Donny glanced up at Uti's face for a second. _There_ was that smart ass expression. He cut off whatever retort Uti was forming with a sharp thrust of his fingers, driving them in deep. Uti gasped, body arching into Donny's hand. Eyes not leaving Uti's face, Donny wriggled the tips of his fingers, moving them around in that tight, slick heat inside Uti's body. The kid squirmed, gasping and moaning at the feeling.

Donny removed his fingers with a grin. He hadn't known they could do things this way 'round. But now he wanted to. All the time. Every time. Uti was fucking... his _face_ , the things his face was doing... fucking incredible.

Donny's eyes stayed trained on that face as he grabbed at Uti's hips with one hand and guided himself in with the other. Uti moaned, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. The long, pale line of his throat was tight, skin stretched tight with how far he was arching. Donny watched, fascinated, as he started moving inside Uti. It wasn't even important at this point how he felt, though Uti felt great around him, like he always did. Tighter than a nun's and a hundred times as hot. But as Donny pounded into Uti, all he could focus on was how he _looked_.

Uti arched, whining and moaning as he reached one hand blindly for Donny. Not knowing exactly what was expected of him, Donny adjusted his grip so he could hold Uti in place with one hand and reach for his with the other. When Donny's fingers twined with Uti's, his eyes flew open, looking up at Donny. 

“Hey,” Donny croaked.

Uti just stared, mouth hanging wide open, eyes even more so. Feeling some emotion in his chest, some thing happening he wasn't sure how to deal with, Donny leaned down to cover Uti's mouth with his. Couldn't keep looking at him like that. 

Uti gasped, whole body shivering beneath Donny as he kept his hips moving hard, pushing deep inside. Saliva dripped from his mouth, their chins were slick with it, and it was so fucking hot, Donny loved Uti like this. All open and wet and dirty. Clean little bookish guy, who would have thought it? But he was a Basterd, and Donny was a Basterd, and they both understood each other, that way. They were Basterds together, and Uti was all his, just his, his perfect man, just like this. 

When they finished, Donny didn't move away much. Pulled himself out, wiped his penis and Uti's thighs down with a sheet. Moved enough to wipe Uti's stomach down, too. But then he curled up against Uti, tugging him close, covering most his skinny bones with his more broad stretches of muscle and skin. He didn't do this, normally. Normally he'd pull out, give Uti a good-sex smack on the ass, and roll over to his side of the bed. But he knew Uti liked this stuff: the cuddling, the hugging, the kissing. And this was Uti's night, after all. 

Uti stilled, like he was going to say something. Donny tensed, too, just with that thought. He didn't need Uti saying thanks or anything; in fact, that'd be shit. Uti _better_ not thank him, because all this... it wasn't supposed to be a 'thanks' thing. It was supposed to be just a... a thing, Donny did, because it was right. Because Uti deserved to be treated right.

But then Uti didn't say anything. He just nuzzled his forehead against Donny's neck and sighed deeply, whole body feeling like it was melting into Donny and the bed. Donny grinned, out into the blackness of their bedroom. Good. 

That was a pretty good anniversary, all things considered. Donny made good food, and made Uti happy, and they had good sex. _Great_ sex, really, and now Donny had a whole other position they could fuck in, and that was the best. Perfect anniversary, really. If he said so himself.

 

 


End file.
